Hera ran as fast as she could in the direction of home, her board clutched in her clammy hands. The black gripping sand paper on the top of her board scratched her palms and threatened to tear the skin, but she kept running, ignoring the pains.

      Breathing hard, her lungs filled with the sensation of being on fire, she reached the driveway of her house and came to an abrupt stop, risking a stroke at her sudden stop of movement.

      The car was gone. Checking to see how "in his right mind" her father had been, she checked the mail box. The mail was still there, waiting to be taken out of the black tin confines.

      She felt like smiling with the realisationof her good fortune, but suppressed it. She hardly had the will or strength to do that anymore. It just wasn't worth it.

      Her shoulders sagging, Hera walked around the side of the house to the back, letting herself in the backdoor. There was no need to test her luck further.

      Quietly, she creeped down the hall to her room and placed herskateboard in the closet, hidden behind mounds of boxes for protection from her father. There wasno telling what he would do if he discovered she went out every Saturday to skateboard with a lot of people. Hera just knew it wouldn't blow over very well.

      Looking around, she recognized things in front of her various hiding spots that she used to save her from further attacks from her father.

      They were numerous but sporadic. She rocked back and forth slowly on her feet, dizzy with realizations swarming through her ears and head as she recalled every item, every word said about that item, every time she had hidden the stuff. Taking in a shaky breath, she fell to her knees taknig in deep breaths and exhaling sobs that racked her body and filled the room, permeatnig the quiet still that had overwhelmed the house just moments ago. She couldn't help it. She had to cry.